


porn in the archives is illegal

by ningdom



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Exhibitionism, General Creepyness, Humor, Literal Bad Porn, M/M, Voyeurism, real stupid dumb bitch humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28990662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ningdom/pseuds/ningdom
Summary: Jon scoffs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, of course not. I’m uncomfortable with it, Tim, because it’s invasive! I am not interested in watching idiots pretending to be the two of us, or god forbid myself and Martin or Melanie, perform gross acts of indecency!” He bites out.Tim pauses. “Oh, then, you probably don’t need to worry about it.” He says.“... What. Do you mean?” Jon asks between gritted teeth.Tim waves at the air with a false sense of levity. “Oh, nothing. It’s just - most of,” he cuts himself off, squinting at the screen. There’s a few heartbeats of scrolling, before he snorts. “Actually, all of. All of the videos with you are you and Elias getting down and dirty.”-AU where everything is the same but the mag institute has celebrity levels of popularity LMAO
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Tim/Martin but not really
Comments: 26
Kudos: 93





	porn in the archives is illegal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SixofOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixofOne/gifts).



> this is stupid as all hell and is flat out just a bad comedy fic LOL 
> 
> don't actually follow the link in here i made it up and have no idea where it leads, might be real, might lead to something, might not LOL  
> this is set some vague period during season 3 but don't ask me to place it on a timeline
> 
> this isn't britpicked or edited really, let me know if there are any mistakes!

It’s not something that Jon thinks about often, but - the Magnus Institute isn’t the most inconspicuous workplace. People around London tend to recognize him at everyday locations, though his brusque demeanor usually does the trick in saving him from too much small talk. From the stories he occasionally overhears, the others aren’t so lucky. Jon doesn’t exactly go out for social gatherings, so his encounters with…  _ fans _ lay few and far between. 

It’s still a bit of a shock to him, the sort of attention the Institute garners,  _ especially _ after finding out about all of the… not-good things. The many, many, not good things, like dead bodies in tunnels and worms and dread gods and monsters and  _ eyes _ . Then, it’s almost a bit ridiculous that people seem to be so jovial towards the place and it’s employees. A sweet-faced woman stops him in the grocer’s while he’s pricing out the best option between two different brands of canned beats of varying sizes, and he wants to grab her shoulders and shake her - the Institute is  _ dangerous _ and certainly not something she should be shaking his hand for like he’s some sort of, of -  _ celebrity _ , and  _ no _ he doesn’t have time to tell her about what it’s like in the Archives or if he’s actually seen any ghosts, he has shopping to do.

Regardless.

Jon knows that the Institute is… a bit infamous. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s one of the myriad of reasons he’d been drawn to getting a job there in the first place. At the time, the prestige had sounded rather good. And; if he got to research into the supernatural in hopes of stumbling across a single other true tale while enjoying a distinguished academical position, well. (It was only after working there for a year that he’d realized it wasn’t, in fact, prestige that the Institute offered, but  _ popularity. _ And that didn’t even extend to any professional fields - no, the Institute was just as much of a laughingstock to regular academics as a circus.) 

So, they’re not exactly respected. Just… recognized. 

It’s just - it’s just that Jon hadn’t realized it was the entire  _ world _ recognizing them. 

It’s not odd. He avoids social media, his phone is barely from this century, he’s not interested in the news, and he really only uses his laptop to answer work-related emails and watch cat videos when he’s feeling down. Jon had no way of knowing that it wasn’t just London that shared in an unusual fascination with the Magnus Institute, but the whole planet. It shouldn’t even change anything, it’s not like it will ever affect  _ Jon _ , but it does. 

It does, because Jon is hovering behind a snickering Tim’s chair alongside Martin and Melanie. The three of them are staring in abject horror at Tim’s laptop screen, where low-quality grainy footage of a tall, blond, and Russian version of Tim is currently naked and buried to the hilt inside what Jon’s sure is an equally Russian double of Martin. 

“сильнее!” Martin’s actor cries out from Tim’s tinny speakers. The real Martin makes a sort of cut-off choked, gurgling noise. Jon’s covering his own mouth with his hand, his brain still trying to catch up to the situation.

“Tim, what the  _ fuck. _ ” Melanie says. Her harsh tone makes Jon jump slightly, and he’s finally able to break eye contact with the…  _ video. _ He looks away quickly, unacceptably flustered and uncomfortable. Looking at Tim and Martin, however, does  _ not _ fix the problem, and he settles on glaring at one of the paintings hanging up in the back of the office. The eyes seem to be looking back at him, and he’s not sure if it’s just paranoia or if Elias is behind them. Jon glares harder.

Tim shakes his head wildly, gesturing at his laptop. “What, it wasn’t on purpose! I didn’t go looking for it! Someone emailed me a link!” He chokes out between clenched teeth. Clenched teeth, because he’s trying not to  _ laugh. _

Jon scoffs. “Turn it  _ off. _ ” He growls with a jerky wave of his hand at the computer. “This is a grave invasion of privacy, not to mention possibly harassment. Even if you think it’s hilarious, Martin clearly doesn’t. Turn. It.  _ Off. _ ” 

Tim grumbles, but complies. The video pauses on a rather explicit frame, and they all quietly stare at it for a few moments before Tim gingerly unpauses it, waits a beat or two, and clicks again. With the clip paused on a much more socially acceptable picture of someone’s ankle - Jon thinks it might be Russian Tim’s - he spins his chair back around to face them. He eyes Martin with a scrunched up look of constipation. 

“... Sorry, Martin.” Tim mutters bashfully. Ah, discomfort, then. Not constipated. “I mean, come on, though. It’s funny.” He says with a little kick. “Hey, do you think this counts as ‘uncanny valley strange?’ Could stuff like this feed the Stranger?” 

Jon very, very, very acutely does not want to have that conversation. In fact, there are very few conversations he wants to have less. Still, he cocks his head to the side.

… Maybe. He looks back at the painting across the hall. The eyes are flat paint as always, but he still feels Watched.  _ Well? Could it? _ He pointedly thinks. He gets no response, of course. It’s a painting.

Martin’s still gaping like a fish, but the shock finally wears off enough that he lets out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. The sound makes everyone else in the room flinch, slightly. 

Tim looks even more awkward. Melanie exhales loudly. “Who even gave you that link?” She leans in, squinting. “...This isn’t even a Russian user. The uploader is American. Wow, you guys are like - globetrotters, or something. But with porn.” 

Martin’s vocabulary seems to fail him once again, and he makes a noise not unlike a dying cat. Tim blinks, leaning in as well. “Oh, I don’t really know,” he says absently. “Just someone on one of those fansites. Wow, you’re right.” 

Melanie’s head snaps around to fix him with an incredulous stare. “You... gave out your personal email to people that spend their time obsessing over us?” 

“What! It seemed like a good idea at the time, I’ve been getting a lot of hookups.” Tim says, affronted. He clicks a few times.

“Wow, you deserve anything that happens to you.” Melanie proclaims flatly, before turning on her heel and going back to her desk. “Don’t even tell me anything else. I don’t want to know.”

Jon pulls his glasses down and presses his fingers between his eyes. “Okay, back to work. This is ridiculous. Tim,  _ never _ follow any more links like that in this workplace, I don’t care what you do in your free time, but don’t make the rest of us look at it.”

Martin squeaks. “He wouldn’t - I mean, he doesn’t actually - that kind of thing, it’s just not - Tim, you don’t watch that kind of thing, right? I mean, that, that specific thing! Don’t watch that specific thing!” 

Tim nods absentmindedly. “Of course not. I can’t understand Russian.” He says.

“That- that should NOT be the problem there-” Martin starts, but he’s cut off by Tim suddenly whooping with the attitude of someone that’s just won the lottery. 

Melanie looks up from her papers, eyes narrow. Jon, who had been just about to go back into his office, is suddenly overcome by a chill. Martin, pausing in his rant, just seems slightly perplexed. Jon wishes he didn’t have a sinking feeling about what had caused Tim such a sudden bout of elation.

Laughing now, Tim points at his screen. “Look! They have a whole category for us!” He snorts, not even pretending that he doesn’t find the entire situation  _ delightful _ anymore. 

Jon suddenly Knows that he doesn’t want to see any more. Or, perhaps, it’s just ‘knows.’ He’s honestly not quite sure where his level of knowledge about the contents of a bunch of porn videos featuring actors playing as his colleagues falls on the Richter scale of the supernatural, the sheer unbridled trepidation is making it a bit hard to tell if he’s Looked into it and Seen, or if he’s just particularly upset and resistant to the idea of being in this room for another second.

“There’s at least a couple dozen videos on here!” Tim crows.

Melanie’s head thunks onto her desk. Martin’s war against his own morbid curiosity wins out, and he’s scurrying out of the Archives and up the stairs with a hasty “ _ SorryIforgotsomethinginstorageI’llbebackinabit”  _ and he’s gone. 

Jon knows what Tim is going to say before he says it. He does. 

“ _ Ha! _ They’ve even got a bunch of you, boss! That’s a bit sad, honestly.” 

Melanie snickers. “Guess there really is no accounting for taste.” 

Tim shakes his head in mock pity. “Don’t worry, boss, all the guys they got to play you look pretty hot. You got an upgrade!”

Jon sighs. It seems a bit over-the-top to wish a catastrophe into happening, but he almost hopes the Institute suddenly gets attacked. The kind of attacked where nobody dies or even gets hurt, of course, but at least  _ nobody will be talking about this for the next three weeks. _

Martin, who was supposed to be going upstairs, pokes his head back in the door. “Wait, of  _ Jon?!” _

Melanie eyes him. “I thought you were going upstairs.” She says. 

Martin squeaks. “Oh- yes, right! Right, sorry! Going!” He stutters out before he’s gone once again. There’s a loud thud and a muffled curse from the stairwell, followed by a couple of apologies. 

Tim and Melanie share a Look. Jon wrinkles his nose.

A few moments later, Elias emerges into the Archives looking none worse the wear despite the Martin-shaped tornado that had just blown past him. He smiles, all pearly whites. “Hello, everyone. Nice to see you all working so hard on company time.” Elias says evenly. Before anyone else can even jump in, he continues, inserting himself seamlessly into the situation because  _ of course  _ he’s been watching and knows exactly what’s going on. A moment of privacy would be simply too much to ask for in the Magnus Institute. “To answer your earlier question, Jon, yes. As ridiculous as it sounds, I do believe that material such as this could offer some small source of nourishment to I Do Not Know You. Of course, not from one like Tim that finds amusement in it, but perhaps from others less comfortable with the idea.” 

Every head in the room swivels to look at Jon, who had nearly escaped into his office, the door held open in his hand. He’s dimly aware of Tim muttering something about being the one that thought of that idea. Jon splutters. “Wh- It’s  _ obscene! _ Of course I’m uncomfortable with it! And why are you all looking at  _ me, _ Martin’s the one that fled the whole gods-forsaken Archives.” 

“Do you think maaaaybe you’re just super uncomfortable with it because you don’t know what’s here?” Tim sing-songs. “Sure you don’t wanna just take a peek? Then you’d know how bad it is, and boom! No more Stranger fuel.”

Jon scoffs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, of course not. I’m  _ uncomfortable  _ with it, Tim, because it’s  _ invasive _ ! I am not interested in watching idiots pretending to be the two of us, or  _ god forbid  _ myself and Martin or Melanie, perform gross acts of indecency!” He bites out. 

Tim pauses. “Oh, then, you probably don’t need to worry about it.” He says.

It’s bait. Jon knows it’s bait. It’s  _ obviously _ bait. He’ll just turn around and go into his office. It’s fine. He doesn’t need to know. It’s not important. It’s  _ bait. _ All he’d have to do is slip in the open door and close it behind him. 

“... What. Do you mean?” Jon asks between gritted teeth. 

Tim waves at the air with a false sense of levity. “Oh, nothing. It’s just - most of,” he cuts himself off, squinting at the screen. There’s a few heartbeats of scrolling, before he snorts. “Actually, all of. All of the videos with you are you and Elias getting down and dirty.” 

Silence.

“ _ That _ checks out.” Melanie says, a hateful, mean undercurrent to her voice that Jon doesn’t really want to look at too deeply. In fact, he doesn’t really want to look at any of this too deeply. He should have just turned around and locked himself in his office. “They picked out the two monsters.” She bites. The words make Jon flinch slightly, a sudden nausea in his gut and tightness in his throat. Tim makes a humming noise, neutral enough that Jon can tell himself that it wasn’t one of agreement.

Elias laughs, a rare chuckle that sounds oddly honest and just one side of delighted. Jon would glare at him if, well. If he didn’t have to look at Elias to glare. He thinks he might die if he looked at Elias. “Aah, that’s quite funny. How odd! Thank you, Tim.” 

Jon makes a face at the door. Right. He’s had enough of that. With a slam, he shuts himself inside his office and heaves out a sigh. He can still hear softly muted voices from the other side of the door, but thankfully nothing he can make out. Before he sits down, a last minute thought, he turns all the pictures in his office around. Elias will  _ somehow _ turn them all face side up again in the middle of the night despite the fact that he should have a  _ home to go to _ , but Jon doesn’t care.

Elias. Him and Elias? Elias and Jon. There are -  _ graphic videos  _ of people pretending to be Elias and Jon engaging in sexual acts. From what Tim said, many videos.  _ Elias, _ of all fucking people. It’s enough to make him want to just start snarling at the first person to cross his path. Jon honestly… has no idea what to think. Suddenly, he’s rewinding memories, frantically rolling through every encounter he’s ever had with people that recognized him. Did they  _ know _ ? Did they  _ watch it _ ? Why  _ Elias?! _ Why not someone, literally anyone else? He’d even take Melanie. 

Do people think -

No. 

No, he’s being ridiculous. 

Jon sits down sharply, limbs all too-tense and movements jerky. “What the fuck?” He says out loud, and picks at the bandages on his burned hand. 

-

By the next day, he hasn’t gained any sort of magical insight as to the Elias Problem, which is what he’s begun calling it in his head. Considering his place of employment and his budding…  _ powers _ , this is actually a bit of a letdown.

It’s as he’s getting off his bus, though, that he’s accosted by a genial young woman that stutters a bit as she introduces herself, asking if he’s  _ the _ Jonathan Sims, the one that works at the ‘Magnus place.’ Jon is struck by the sudden unfounded fear that this woman has  _ seen _ the things on the web, and harries himself down the street rather rudely. She wouldn’t have said anything, of course, it wouldn’t have been polite, he tells himself. But what if she’d seen? Knew? What if seeing him brought the memory of it back to the forefront of her mind, and while she looked him in the eyes and introduced herself she’d been thinking about -

No. 

Jon holds his bag closer to himself and walks a bit faster. The Institute feels like a goalpost when he makes it in the doors, and he sighs in relief. He checks in with Rosie, and heads down the stairs to the Archives in record time. He’s usually quite early, but his speedy escape from the bus stop has landed him at work almost a full ten minutes before he normally arrives. 

Sure enough, the paintings and photos in his office have all been turned back around at some point in the night. Jon doesn’t bother facing them away again, he’s better. More relaxed. It’s fine. He’s at work, this whole business won’t get brought up again and in a day or two he’ll have forgotten all about it. He drops his bag down gently on the back of his chair, and gently opens his laptop. There are a few new notifications, mostly work related emails. He takes his time briefly checking each one - a notice about construction being done on the floor above to put in some safety rails later in the week, a vague reminder to remember to dispose of your trash in the cafeteria, and another about ‘improper usage of the employee break room,’ whatever that meant. There’s one from Tim with the subject header as “that website” that he pointedly ignores, and another from Elias. 

Though he doesn’t particularly want to even think about Elias for the rest of the day, the man is still his boss and it’s not like the email is going to be about anything other than work. Or, well, he supposes it could also be some kind of ominous message about Jon’s own declining humanity, but he has a feeling Elias likes to save those conversations for face-to-face scenarios. So, really, it’s just going to be a reminder to keep his staff on task and not waste any more time on the - the  _ tomfoolery _ from yesterday. 

He opens the email. 

**e.bouchard@maginstitute.com**

to j.sims@maginstitute.com ⏷ 1:23 AM

  


https://www.****hub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=eg5fct524423886

I thought this one was the most entertaining of the bunch. You’ll see what I mean.

  


⮨ Reply 🠊 Forward  
  
---  
  
Jon stares. The words don’t change.

There are probably a thousand different ways he could take this. Surely, this isn’t what it looks like. There is no way, no possible, _conceivable way_ , that his boss has - what? Spent the night watching _adult videos_ \- pornography, Jonathan, you can say the word \- featuring the two of them, and then proceeded to finish it off by linking one to Jon. It’s ridiculous. Laughable. 

Sure, Elias is a bit - well, he comes on a bit strong, sometimes, with his… oddness, but this is. This is a different level. For one horrible moment he’s weighing Elias’ quite frankly terrifying interest in Jon’s  _ Becoming _ , or whatever he calls it, against… this. To his abashment, Jon has no idea which one he’s more uncomfortable with. If this  _ is _ what he’s afraid of it being - there’s no way it’s for any real reason. It’s just, something Elias has found funny, that’s all. Of course he knows Jon does not like this, but that’s probably just… part of the joke. One big bucket of laughs for Elias. Jon turns his head around to glare at the painting hanging on the wall behind his head. The prim gouache face of some stuffy old nobleman stares back at him, much the same as it had always been. And what the hell was  _ You’ll see what I mean _ supposed to say? Jon gnawed on his bottom lip in aggravation. A goad? A loosely veiled instruction?? 

And of course, maybe it’s just badly timed. It’s not what he thinks it might be. Jon has all this  _ stuff _ rolling around in his head right now, and he’s jumped to conclusions because of it. Perfectly reasonable conclusions considering the events from the day before, but unwarranted all the same. Elias has never given any indication that he’d… do something like this. Be - interested. He’s unsettling in his own ways, but - Jon would know. He would. He’s sure he’d know, there would have been some sign, some tip to warn him. 

Jon would know. Certainly, he would know. Nodding to himself with certainty, he straightens back up in his seat. This is a normal company email, and he’s just gotten all this.. unpleasantness mixed up in his head. He doesn’t recognize the link, but it’s surely just something regular and mundane. Well; either regular and mundane or on some spectrum of the supernatural, but with his job that’s almost mundane anyway. Feeling slightly more at ease, he nods to himself decisively, and clicks the link. Elias thinks he’ll open it, so it must be something Jon would watch. And he certainly, absolutely, assuredly would never sit in his office at his own workplace and watch pornography. He would die first. 

It opens a small video window in the email itself, and as the buffer wheel loads he tells himself once again that it’s not what he thinks. Perhaps an old video recorded statement - of course, a fake one, because otherwise the technology wouldn’t have captured it. Jon brightens. Of course! The ‘most entertaining.’ Elias has spent the night watching fake statements or fake footage of encounters, and he wants Jon to see one that’s particularly bad. Not exactly his idea of a fun night, but he supposes he can see the charm to watching an assembly line of people make fools of themselves while trying to convince you of things they know nothing about. To someone like  _ Elias _ , of course. Not Jon.

The video starts up. 

It displays a rather bare-bones and unfamiliar library, the camera following a typically common-place man in slacks and a sweater through the shelves, and Jon can’t quite see the man’s face. He has something in his hands - a clipboard? Papers? The video quality is slightly grainy, and it’s not clear what he’s looking at. Finally, the man comes to a door, that’s been left slightly cracked open. Strange noises are coming from inside the room that bring the man in front of the camera pause - fleshy noises, like  _ meat _ , and labored breathing. Jon wrinkles his nose. Meat. He hopes not. The man stops slowly, and begins to lean closer the crack in the door to peer in curiously.

There’s a flash of metallic bronze on the side of the door. A plaque. Jon’s eyes catch the words almost last second - _ Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist _ . 

Three things happen in the space of a few seconds.

His first thoughts are myopic. He doesn’t even  _ have _ a plaque. Jon wants a plaque. 

Second, his brain catches up with his eyes. 

Lastly, all at once, the flat denial is no longer an option. Jon realizes with a choked noise what’s playing on his computer, and his hand flies forward to slam down on the pause button. To his great dismay, he doesn’t make it in time before the scene changes, and he finds himself falling on the same unfortunate sword as Tim had the day before. 

The video pauses on a new frame. Two men, clearly in the middle of intercourse over a desk - one that Jon notes with a disproportionate sense of fury is nicer than his  _ actual  _ desk in an attempt to think about literally anything else - with the camera angled towards their faces, the desk coyly hiding much of the graphic imagery. Small mercies. 

The shorter man is completely bent over the varnished wood, an open look of agonized pleasure twisting his face. There are enough differences that he’s able to immediately categorize to keep a sense of disconnect from what he’s seeing, but the man is clearly and obviously supposed to be Jon. Tim was right, he thinks with bewildered disgruntlement. The fake Jon looks a bit like a supermodel. This Jon’s grey streaks look like artful brushes of silver, and the stubble along his jaw gives off the impression of purposeful rougishness rather than someone that’s just forgotten to shave for two weeks. Damnit. The man is more attractive than Jon, he has a nicer desk,  _ and _ a plaque. Jon almost feels like pouting, but that would be a waste of time and completely ridiculous. 

Still. 

His…  _ partner _ , Jon thinks with a cringe, is much taller and broader and though his own greying hair is mussed up from activity, it’s holding enough shape to clearly have once been perfectly styled. Elias’ double - since it’s without a doubt meant to be Elias - has one hand twisted up in the fake Jon’s hair, and the other somewhere pressed against the small of his back. His expression is pulled and tight, but a small grin showing at the edges of his lips betray how he’s really feeling.

Jon lets out a little noise of despair. He can see the door behind the two men, and the third is just barely visible peeking in through the gap. He thinks it’s supposed to be Martin. He  _ hopes _ it isn’t Martin.

But it wouldn’t  _ matter  _ even if it  _ was _ because it’s not  _ real _ and it’s just  _ stupid, baseless pornography  _ that Elias has sent him to - to - to freak him out. Unbalance him. Elias is probably watching him right now, chuckling to himself. Jon spins around once again to look at the painting behind him. It’s impassive canvas eyes stare back at him. “ _ What _ do you think you’re  _ doing?”  _ He hisses. He hopes Elias is behind them, otherwise he’s just looking like a buffoon. Actually, no, that would mean Elias watched him and is still watching him. He’s between a rock and a hard place.

_ Speaking of.  _ The little Elias-shaped voice in the back of his head that’s been cultivated specifically to bother him jeers. It used to be quite a nice little voice, his subconsciousness trying to convince him that he wasn’t a completely useless waste of space by using the boss that he’d wanted to impress so badly. Yes, he  _ knows _ how that sounds. And he supposes it’s still fairly nice, but it sounds like  _ Elias _ and that’s just. Not very welcome, anymore. He does not  _ want  _ Elias  _ Bouchard _ in his  _ head.  _

_ Pity. _ The little voice quips.  _ Look down. _

Jon does. 

He very, very, very quickly looks back up. He covers his mouth with one hand. 

“Why am I  _ hard?”  _ Jon seethes from between his fingers.

_ Is there anything else it could have been?  _ He thinks, and then immediately recoils at the idea. It - he supposes it makes - makes  _ sense,  _ but - he wants to scream.

Jon pushes his chair closer to his  _ very cheap, scuffed up  _ desk, until his legs are all but tucked under it and his chest is flush against the wood.  _ Running and hiding like usual?  _ He thinks at himself in a barbed tone, and feels a strange need to argue. Unfortunately, this movement takes him much too close to his laptop, and now he’s dangerously close to being near enough to brush it with his nose. 

He makes a disgruntled noise and sinks a bit lower. 

A part of him wants to unpause it. Now - now he has a question. Does he actually - is he into this? It seems ludicrous. He is suddenly very aware that if he presses play, he’s going to be even worse than Tim; hiding away in his office like he is. It’s not a good look. He worries at his bottom lip. But… he’s curious. Nobody else is even in yet.  _ Nobody else has to know. _ That’s not exactly true, though -  _ Elias _ will know. Elias is expecting it, even, he realizes. The man is watching him flay himself open over this right this moment, from some unknown location. The painting behind him? No, likely not. He wouldn’t be able to see Jon’s face. The photo hung beside his door? Possible, but… Jon looks down at the frozen video, sees the two actors, their faces open and eyes wide. He Knows, then, that those are the Eyes Elias will hide behind, observe him from. 

Even beyond the revulsion and shame he feels, he’s curious. He’s curious and he has a question he needs answering, a new question that he’s never really asked himself on any level of seriousness, and from that single fact alone he knows he’s going to keep watching. Jonathan Sims has never, ever,  _ ever  _ once in his life been happy leaving well enough alone.

He clicks.

Jon’s speakers blare out with a breathy, grunted “ _ Just like that, you’re perfect, Jon, you can take it.”  _

He pauses again. Turns the volume down a few notches. Swallows hard. Lets out a long, wavering exhale. The voice is all wrong. He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or glad.

The video resumes in startling clarity, loud repetitive creaking noises coming from the desk every time Elias’ actor thrusts. The fake Jon makes a high pitched keening noise and presses his cheek into the varnished wood. The camera changes angle, and from the new view he can see his own actor pushing his hips backwards in a horrifyingly wanton, needy way. He’s fucking himself on Elias’ cock almost as much as Elias is fucking him. 

One of his hands has been hovering over his keyboard in a clenched fist, waiting to pause if he needs to. Now, though, he drags it slowly downwards, and lets it fall between his clenched legs. His fingers palm against the rising heat from his cock, strained tight at the seam of his trousers.

The  _ actors.  _ Elias’s  _ actor, _ not Elias, and certainly not Jon. Jon buries his face in his free hand. He peeks out between two of his fingers, unable to bring himself to stop watching but also unable to look at it head on. Elias’ actor is uncomfortably looking directly into the camera, never breaking eye contact with it, and Jon gets a chill on the back of his neck and feels his heart pound in his chest. The camera changes once again, giving him another shot of the man watching them from outside the door, and it’s obvious that he’s begun to touch himself, breaths heavy and unbalanced. The view of them from behind isn’t as obscene as seeing the way their faces twist and their throats flutter with labored gasps, but the knowledge that the unknown man is getting something out of spying on them makes it nearly just as profane. 

“ _ Fuck- _ ” Jon whispers, and bites his tongue. This is new. Very, very new. He’s never suffered anything quite like this before - he’s touched himself on occasion, of course, when his body acted up, but never with this sort of fever. Jon’s never pictured someone else, taken enjoyment from the idea of it until his heart raced in his ribcage, fluttering wildly like some kind of trapped bird with oil dripping from its useless wings. He feels filthy. He feels -

The angle changes again. Jon’s once again face to tiny 720p face, and he Knows that Elias is watching him from behind the eyes of the actor bending Jon roughly over his own desk and whispering sweet encouragements and praises in his ear. 

“ _ Come for me, Archivist.”  _ Elias says in a voice that’s too high and nothing like his own at all. “ _ You’re mine.” _

Jon does.

-

So, that was bad. Still is bad. Jon’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s sitting blankly in his office and it’s only been about twenty minutes since he arrived despite it feeling like hours, and his trousers and pants are now ruined. The rest of the Archive staff will be getting to work any minute. The  _ video _ is still open on his computer. He’s just… rather stunned, and has no idea what to do at this point.

A knock on his door makes him look up. 

It is, of course, Elias. The man has a  _ horrible  _ look on his face, like the cat that caught the canary and got to eat it, too. Jon simply stares at him, mind blank. He’s incredulous, maybe. “Elias,” Jon says. “What the fuck?” 

Elias laughs brightly, and walks forward with long strides. 

Jon scoots his chair backwards, eyes narrowing in alarm.

The older man pauses, looks at him. With a snort a moment later, he shakes his head. “No worries, Jon. I just came to give you this. I had a… feeling, you might say, that you’d need a favor today.” And with that, he places a red paper bag on Jon’s desk.

Jon drags it closer to himself and peers inside. He looks back up, feeling a tad bit mad. “You’ve brought me  _ trousers _ .” He says dumbly. 

Elias rolls his eyes. “Yes, do keep up. They’ll likely be a bit too bit too big for you, but I threw a belt in as well. You’re welcome to refuse it, of course, but -” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t envy my other options, if I were you. Though-!” Elias says with another smile. “I wouldn’t be in this position anyways.” He claps his gloved hands together, voice cheery. 

Jon looks at the bag in his hands. “You’re horrible.” He mutters.

“Yes, well, you just got off to the thought of me bending you over this desk while watching  _ pornography _ at work.” Elias says, delivery flat and impassive despite his continued smile. 

Jon stands up, scowling. He very pointedly does not look down. Elias does him the decency of keeping his eyes on Jon’s face. “I am going to the bathroom to change.” He states while clutching the bag to his chest. “We will never,  _ ever _ talk about this again.” 

“Are you sure?” Elias asks. “Never is quite the strong word.” 

“I’m keeping these.” Jon replies, and shoulders his way past the grinning man. 

“If you must.” Elias says with a small tip of his head. 

Jon shuts the door to the Archives behind him, and prays that Elias will be gone by the time he finishes changing. The trousers are a very nice material and couldn’t have been cheap, which almost makes him angrier. He idly wonders if Elias will have an unwearable half of a suit forever, now. He  _ hopes  _ so. Jon stuffs his old trousers and underpants as far as he can down into the rubbish bin. Elias had been right, he thinks bitterly as he loops the plain black belt through the hoops. Jon wants to argue with someone that he’s not  _ that _ small, thank you very much, but he has to tighten it all the way to the smallest hole, so maybe he should just let it go.

By the time he returns to the Archives, Martin has arrived and is puttering about in their tiny break room making tea. Tim’s bag is on his chair, but the man himself is nowhere to be found.

Until Jon pushes open the door to his office and sees Tim standing behind his laptop, eyebrows raised high. 

Tim looks at him. He clenches his teeth. Tim opens his mouth. 

Jon considers the pros and cons of taking a plane halfway around the world and chaining himself down until the separation from the Archives killed him dead. Or… whatever it does to you. Whatever it is, it  _ must _ be better than this.

-


End file.
